Dead Set
by sobangcha
Summary: Levy has never had a future- she's a farmer's daughter, poor and disfigured besides. Sold into an arranged marriage, she is only happy to escape her abusive father. But when a mysterious visitor shows up and saves her from a terrible fate, Levy is thrown into a whirlwind of events that will decide the fate of Fiore.


_The plot of this is based very loosely on the book Grave Mercy by Robin Lafevers; however, most of it will be my own story. I came up with this while re-reading the book for the millionth time and I couldn't help but notice just how much the two main characters remind me of Gajeel and Levy. And so the story was born. Enjoy!_

 ***disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Fairy Tail or Grave Mercy. Those belong to their respective authors.***

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Chapter One: Gods

My heart flutters anxiously in my chest as I stand in my father's dingy, dimly lit cottage, awaiting the priest that will preside over the marriage ceremony. My fingers dig into my palms hard enough to draw blood, and I pray that Droy, my husband to be, tall and silent next to me, is kind. I have very vivid memories of the bruises my father's hands left on my mother's body, a fate that was transferred to me after her death from the starving sickness two winters ago. As I stare at my feet, unable to look the man next to me in the eye, I silently give thanks to Mavis that my husband's farm is in the next village over, far away from my father. After the wedding, we must leave immediately if we hope to make the journey before nightfall. An escape at last- or so I hope.

Finally, the priest arrives, the necessary words are said, and we are each given a simple bracelet of knotted rope as proof of our union. I watch as Droy hands my father a small leather bag filled with a few sorry coins- the price of the rest of my life. Am I really worth so little?  
Too soon, I am bundled out the door and onto a horse behind my new husband, and I am only able to watch as all I've ever known swiftly fades into the distance. Although we ride for hours, neither one of us speaks a word. My discomfort grows by the minute- my father never spoke to my mother unless it was out of necessity, or to punish. Words or fists, it mattered little to him. Is this to be my fate as well?

I have no idea what awaits me once we reach my husband's village. I think of Bisca, my only friend, sold off to a man thirty years her senior the minute she turned fourteen. After that, we rarely spoke- her husband insisted she keep company with more prestigious folk, although last moon I glimpsed her with her husband in the square, bouncing a baby on her hip. She didn't look as unhappy as I'd feared- her face showed nothing but love, although I knew not whether it was for the man or the baby.

Love.

The traveling bards always speak of love, but the notion of love is all but laughable for us peasant women. Our job is to be obedient to our husbands and bear and raise their children, and to endure their blows as best we can.

My future was never truly my own, anyway.

Droy guides the horse down a narrow dirt path, and I see a small dwelling at the end of it. It looks to be in a worse state than my father's home- the roof thatch is thin in places and the door hangs askew. Still, I am silent.

"Wait inside," the man orders, and as he brings the horse around to a small shed out back, I stand alone in the doorway. There is a table, two wood chests to serve as chairs, and a ladder leading to a darkened loft, which I can only assume holds a bed. That is all.

A few golden dust motes dance in the rays of the setting sun- my mother used to refer to this as the gentle hour, the time when Mavis and the godstars smiled down on the earth. Mavis, the god of fields and beauty, fertility, the seasons, and life- my soul may have been consecrated to Her at birth, but I doubt She will help me now. I am in the hands of Zeref, the god of fate, darkness, and death, and He is not rumored to be kind.

The door squeals on its hinges and in comes Droy with a look in his eye that makes me want to shrink to the size of a mite on the wall. Fear, no weaker for all that it is familiar to me, grows thick and heavy in the pit of my stomach.

"Take off your clothes," he orders, and I try not to let him see the way my hands are trembling. Before he can stride over and tear my clothing off my very body, I strip naked. I feel the cold air on my skin, and I want desperately to do something, anything about this awful vulnerability. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest. I'm sweating despite the chill, and I feel the way his eyes rake me from top to bottom.

I know I am small and weak, and I have very little in the way of curves. I look like a child still, I'm sure, but that isn't what makes Droy stop in his tracks.

It's the birthmark that reaches from the curve of my hip all the way across my lower back, swirling purple-blue and very conspicuous against my pale skin. Of course, my father never mentioned it to my husband- he'd have wanted to get as much gold out of me as possible. I taste the iron tang of blood- I've been biting my tongue this whole time.

Droy lets out a roar and a curse, and I realize what is meant to come next.  
Pain.

I brace myself for the slam of his meaty hand against my skin, but instead he reaches for the small sheath at his belt. _Oh, Mavis_. He's going to kill me.

"That bastard McGarden," he says, his voice low and rough. "Thinking he can fool me into buying his cursed girl."

My throat is dry and I feel like crying, but I hold my head high and stare him down as he approaches me. I will not let him see me weak. I see him draw the dagger as he stalks nearer, and every second feels like an eternity. The moment has an eerie, dreamlike quality of disbelief. I can't possibly die today. Was it really only a few hours ago I stood in my father's cottage awaiting a new life?

The weapon gleams like a fallen star in the fading light, and, dazed, I can't help thinking that although the sight spells certain death for me, there's an undeniable beauty in the arc of shining metal. "I can't allow such an... abomination to reside in my home. You, girl, must die."

Droy raises the knife above my head-

And collapses on the ground.

As do I.

.

It takes me a moment to process what happened.

He's out cold, although he's still breathing, and I've fallen out of sheer relief. That relief is short-lived, though, as I find that I'm bleeding- his knife grazed my left arm as he went down, and I bear a long mark from shoulder to elbow that will certainly scar- if I live the night. Because Droy and I are not alone. I detect the pungent stench of magic, and a cloaked figure is shadowed in the doorway. A thief? King's soldier? No matter. If Droy is a target, than I am most certainly next.

I am in no way prepared for what happens when the intruder steps past the threshold. Cloak thrown back to expose a head of brilliant red hair, eyes colder than the steel of my husband's knife, she- for the intruder is, shockingly, a woman- surveys the scene with disgust. "Tch. Men are such pigs." She plants one leather boot firmly on man's head, driving his face into the ground, and then turns to me.

She must be a mage. She bears no sigil of loyalty to the king, and I spy the hilt of a longsword peeking out from under her cloak. A renegade, then. How ironic, to be spared from death by my husband's hand only to find myself staring Him straight in the face yet again. Of course she'll kill me- I'm naked and vulnerable, and a witness to her crime besides.

"Please, make it quick," I beg, long past dignity.

"Make what quick?" She regards me with an almost tender look. "Child, I'm not here to kill." Unbelievably, she kneels, head bent. "Erza Scarlet, Zeref's Mage, at your service."

Zeref's mage? I can't stop the gasp that escapes my lips. They are the assassins, trained from a young age to take out anyone and everyone the god Zeref deems unfit for this world. They are fearless, and they bow to no one but Zeref Himself and their leader, whoever that may be.

So how is it that this woman is on her knees before me?

There is a sudden, sharp pain in my arm, and with a dawning horror I realize that the small bloodstain on the floor has turned into a puddle- no, an ocean of blood. I clutch my left arm to my body, but a sudden dizziness overwhelms me and I fall back.

A muttered curse, and then strange hands are touching me, pulling my wounded arm away from my body. I am dimly aware of the sweet smell of soothing salve, and the brush of a cloth bandage. Something soft and warm is wrapped around my body and I am lifted off the dirt floor. I'm unable to move. All I can do is sink helplessly into unconsciousness as waves of pain pull me under.


End file.
